You're not a monster nor a savior

Chapter 1

"Ha!" she crowed as she kicked away a strange looking scythe. "You nearly got me that time..."

A single glance at the scarlet steel in her eyes told him all he needed to know. This woman, the one on the ground, had been blinded. Her eyes forever destroyed. He knew well the agony of being blind. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and in that moment, his self control slipped. For a fleeting instant he found himself longing to revisit that same horror upon this wretch.

"Eh?" the blade-wielder sensed his ill intent and pivoted to face him. "Who in blazes are you?"

Why answer her? He felt no need. Dark eyes roved about, taking in the scene. He didn't miss the other vagabonds sprawled about. They were none of his concern. He'd clearly stumbled upon a quarrel between this lot. He owed them nothing. A wise man would have simply turned his back and walked away. Despite his brief spark of rage, he considered doing just that.

"Oi! Hedgehog! I asked you a question!"

The world ground to a halt.

"...excuse me?" Asked Madara.

To be fair, Madara had endured many an insult in his long tenure as a shinobi. Bastard, they'd called him. Cruel, demon, devil, murderer of men. But that word? He'd seldom heard it before. What was a hedgehog? Didn't much sound like a compliment, whatever it was. Hadn't Hashirama mentioned it once? He couldn't remember.

"That word you said just now," he drawled. "What does it mean?"

"Well, your hair kinda looks like one. It's all spiky..." said the woman.

Madara's pride bridled as he reached back and touched a hand to the dark, ragged mane of his hair. He remembered now. Hedgehog. A small rodent with quills. This woman was calling him a rodent. A rat. His right eye began to twitch, alongside his hands.

He understood now. This woman wanted to die. He would be happy to oblige her.

The wounded woman whimpered at his and feet and distracted him.

"Please...help...". Whimpered the injured woman.

Something twitched in his black heart.

...this woman," he began slowly, "What is your quarrel with her?"

"Nothing personal," the thug shrugged. "My master intends to rid the word of those awful silver eyes." her half-lidded gaze slid to the weeping woman. "Suppose I already took care of hers, so I don't really have a quarrel with ya. Step aside and I'll let ya live."

The woman snarled and flung her remaining scythe in the bandit's direction. It went wide. Points for spirit, he supposed.

"Ha!" her opponent cackled. "Missed again, sweetheart! Better luck next time!"

Madara's left foot shifted just so. Followed by his right.

It was a simple step forward. Nothing more.

Yet it placed himself between the two of them. He blinked, surprised by his own reaction. His own body had betrayed him. Or did he move subconsciously? Had this ant's arrogance roused his wrath? Was something else at work here? He didn't know, and for the time being, didn't much care. He'd made his choice.

The thug, meanwhile, frowned at him. "You're with her, then?"

Madara exhaled in a long-suffering sigh. "It would seem so. I'll be quick."

He raised a hand and willed one of the woman's fallen scythes into his hand. It landed in his palm with an audible smack. Decent, he supposed. It would do.

The wild woman scoffed. "You know how to use that?"

"Come and see for yourself." He gave his stance.

The blade-wielder blurred; for all her speed, he saw her coming. Madara's reflexes were honed to perfection, his Sharingan enabling him to track every movement of the blade-wielder with unparalleled precision. With swift and deadly intent, he intercepted her assault, his borrowed scythe cleaving through her defenses.

The strike was ruthless and exact, slicing through her collarbone and severing it with brutal efficiency. Blood sprayed into the air, a crimson testament to the inexorable power Madara now possessed. The woman's cruel intentions were swiftly curtailed, and her menacing presence was reduced to a pitiful figure, clutching her grievous wound.

As the dust settled, Madara remained composed, a silent testament to the new world he had entered, one where power and control could reshape fates in the blink of an eye.

His foe tottered back, clutching at her shoulder, eyes wide. "What...what are you...?"

Madara offered a faint shrug. "Merely a man."

She balked at that remark and made to respond. No words came, her mouth working wordlessly as blood dribbled down her lips. His scythe flicked out and she died with a low gurgle. Her headless corpse toppled to the floor, head left to roll to his feet.

"You cannot dance, it seems." Madara kicked it away to rest against the crimson cadaver. "A pity. You intrigued me, if only for a moment."

A faint whine at his feet reminded him of the wounded woman. Against all odds, she was still alive.

On a whim, he knelt beside her. "Now, what do with you...?"

She really did look quite the pitiful sight. Her eyelids were intact somehow, but her bloody tears leaking from those lids told him the eyes themselves within were a lost cause. It would take a level of healing far beyond what he possessed to help her now. Killing her would be a mercy. A quick stroke of the blade and she would go to her rest. Surely that would be better than living like this. His fingers tightened around the scythe's haft. By all rights she had nothing to give him. He owed her nothing.

She must've heard him somehow; because she grabbed blindly at his sleeve. "Is she dead?"

He saw no reason to lie. "Yes. I killed her."

"Good!" She hawked back and spat on the ground. "I hope it hurt!"

Even now she showed such spirit. Despite her fear -and he could sense it plain as day- she refused to go quietly into that good night. A thorn of pity pricked at his black, black heart and stilled his hand. He knew what it was to be blind. Still, this was foolishness. Even if he wanted to help, there was nothing he could do for her...

"Please. I don't want to die." her words were a tiny croak, broken by pain. "Help..."

...could he?

Madara's gaze swiveled to the bandit he'd just slain, eyes wide open in death. The irony wasn't lost on him. Could he? He was no grand healer compared to the Senju, but he did possess some knowledge where the art of eyes were concerned. But he could well make things worse. The choice was his. A hero would give a grand speech here, say something to encourage this poor girl to live.

His shoulders heaved and he made his choice.

"I've never been a hero...".

The scythe fell.